shake me down
by Appointment
Summary: "If you were a bird, where would you fly?" Hermione/George, rated for an F-bomb.


shake me down

_george/hermione_

"lonely times indeed, with eyes cast down. fixed upon the ground, eyes cast down."

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><p>He's been standing out there for hours on end now, just letting the rain catch on his hair, shadows play on his face. No light in his eyes, and she can barely find her way to him in the dark of night.<p>

"George?" she calls hopelessly, he won't respond. "George, where are you?"

Sheets of rain put voices in covert, but she swears she can hear him sobbing.

She trudges through mud until she reaches a tall oak tree, meandered branches bereft of life, with a broken boy sitting parallel to it. He's collapsed against it, his face devoid of any trace of the George Weasley she knew only a few months ago.

"George," she says, kneeling down in soppy dirt. "Come inside, please. Everyone's worried."

It's silent except for the meagre patter of bad weather, and obstructed coughs that hide tears.

"Why did you come?" he asks, his voice nothing but a desolate remainder. "You'll get sick."

She smiles a little bit, and places her hand on his. He looks up, a little too abruptly.

They sit in mud and silence under blankets of darkness, sheathing even the stars. The road is empty, and the world is hollow, but scattered with lost people. The wind is cool, but not biting, silky and suddenly fresh around her neck as he suddenly hugs her body, his arms wrapping around her like a fleece straightjacket.

"Will you come inside?" she says.

"I don't want to," he murmurs into her hair, "He's everywhere."

Hermione stares outwards, watching the lights in The Burrow shudder and flicker, blinking and fighting as it struggles with the inevitable. It's silent; save for the quiet flow of rain, George's trembling inhalations, and the occasional rush of wind that pushed drops of rain into trees. Unobtrusive horns sounded from the Muggle town past the hills, piqued and self-assured on the roadways, going somewhere, but not fast enough.

"We used to play here." he whispers, and it almost gives her a start.

"You and – " He shifts faintly but unnervingly before the name of his twin passes her lips.

"He liked to count the number of birds in a nest," he says, not nearly as wearisome as she was beginning to get used to, "I thought it was silly. He thought they were neat, because they could fly, and their wings were so tiny."

"If you were a bird, where would you fly?" she asks quietly.

"As high as I could manage."

She doesn't need to ask him to elaborate. He shifts back, and they're sitting face to face. He bites his bottom lip slightly, lifts his chin and stares straight ahead, past Hermione, and into nothing. His face is softer now; a thin wisp of hair blows gently back and forth above his brow.

"Fred always said he'd go somewhere new and exciting," he says, and he touches the back of his neck surreptitiously. "Somewhere with a lot of people. He liked to watch people go wherever they were supposed to go, do whatever they were supposed to do. He thought they were a bit fascinating, I always said it was a barmy thing to do."

"George…"

"And now, I think I know why he liked to watch," he says, and he brings his knees up to his chest now like a small child. "It's sad, really. There's all these people, walking in such big packs, but they're all … detached. They sit in chairs with spaces in between, averting their eyes when another person looks at them, no clue what's going on with the other… and I wonder how those people can _live such lonely lives_."

"George," she begins softly, without reason for attempt, "I can't pretend I know how you feel. I just can't, but I have an idea of what Fred would've wanted. I'm not saying I know what he wanted, but I have a tiny idea." she adds to the end, because she knows the backlash that often occurs when this comes up. "I don't think he would've wanted to see his brother waste away."

He tilts his head back, dark eyes to the faint stars, and from between his lips echoes a pitiful little laugh.

"The _stupid fucker_ shouldn't have died on me, then."

Hermione's not exactly taken aback by his choice of language, but it seems he is. He swiftly looks reprehensible, and he nods lightly.

"No," he says quietly, to nobody in particular, "I didn't mean that." He stands up slowly but surely, and turns his back to her, to everyone. "I'm just so alone."

Hermione remains on the ground, one of her pale hands graces her collarbone nervously.

"I feel afraid sometimes," she says softly, just barely hurdling over the rain, "Just of being alone. You know, you always think of this person being out there, for you, maybe. Sometimes I wonder if I've missed the train." She stops right there, suddenly feeling even smaller under the huge, empty sky.

He's totally still for a moment, ginger hair blowing gently in the breeze, and she sits behind him, ambivalence leaving them still in the quiet emptiness of the world, late at night.

"Everybody's feeling sorry for me," he says in a small voice, "but what about Fred?" His voice cracks with inadequacy on the last line of the sentence. "I mean, he's alone too."

She gets up, and stands beside him, looking out into the nothing.

"He's not all alone though, George," she says softly, "Neither are you."

He turns to face her, water running down his face. She can't tell whether it's tears or rain.

"I find it hard to believe that even Death could separate you and Fred." she says, and his eyes soften considerably while he smiles a tiny, ripped up smile. "Even if it has, you're not all alone. Not forever, at least."

"That's right," he says quietly, "I've got you."

"What?" she asks, a little unsure if she's heard him right over the rain.

"You."

Before she realises it, she's leaning into him, the tiniest kiss placing itself between their lips, quietly and surely.

With no spaces between them, or averted eyesight, she's here for him standing ankle-deep in mud, being tucked in by rain, kissed goodnight by deluge and heartache.

If she was a bird, she couldn't quite fly as high as she feels now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN : My first George/Hermione , so tough. Not used to pairing her with anyone but Ron or Draco, so it was a challenge. Written for this carnival ride called life's K I S S I N G I N T H E R A I N Challenge, R&R :)**

**I don't own Harry Potter , anything recognizable here, or the song Shake Me Down by Cage the Elephant. **


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